


we’re all a little broken

by miidniight



Series: Dream SMP Oneshots [7]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Broken Bones, Gen, Hurt, No Beta We Die Like Wilbur in Skyblockle, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, mild body horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 05:54:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29466846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miidniight/pseuds/miidniight
Summary: Technoblade wasn’t very fond of touch.---Or, Technoblade didn’t mean to hurt Ranboo.
Relationships: Ranboo & Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: Dream SMP Oneshots [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2018798
Comments: 8
Kudos: 447





	we’re all a little broken

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this at midnight and then immediately passed out afterwards fjfjdjd
> 
> enjoy :)

Techno wasn't very fond of touch.

First of all, it ruined his _whole_ reputation. Come on, the great Technoblade, anarchist, fearsome warrior, quite possibly the strongest person on the server found cuddling up with his father or hugging one of his brothers? He would rather be caught dead than have people think that he was some kind of softie.

Second, it was difficult to remember that not all hands were meant to hurt. Living life as Technoblade did had its upsides. He's respected, he's feared, he has overpowered gear, and more resources than he could ever possibly need. Technoblade could fight Dream and manage to walk away the victor, grin on his face and bloody axe in his hand. However, the cons sometimes felt like they outweighed the pros.

(The voices cry out to him ceaselessly, demanding blood and screaming words at him that he doesn't even understand.

The paranoia leaves him sleeping with a knife under his pillow, a sword beneath his bed, and an axe waiting by his door.

The nightmares have him waking up gasping, forgetting he's in the safety of his own home as he kicks his way out of tangled sheets and blankets, his only focus on getting away. It isn't until Techno feels the cold of the snow beneath his bare feet that he becomes fully conscious and loosens his death grip on the weapon in his hand.

The bones in his body ache, groaning in protest at the slightest movements some days, especially when the wind whips round his house and nothing, not even the roaring fire, can keep the chill outside from creeping in.

The scars criss-crossed across his skin mock him from the mirrors until he smashes them in a rage and gains more slashing against his palms.)

He used to enjoy touch, once. Back when he lived happily with Phil, Tommy, and Wil, the four of them piled into a home just slightly too small. Back when Techno shared a room with Wilbur and frigid winter nights meant he and Tommy piled themselves onto Techno's bed to keep warm. Back when Phil could still reach his head and ruffle his hair as he said how proud he was.

Back when Techno considered them a family.

But the days where a hand in his peripheral meant pats on the shoulder or little fingers entwined with his own were long gone, replaced by fists flying towards his face or daggers hidden up sleeves.

Phil quickly came to understand this when the first time he had reached to clasp Techno's arm he had come face to face with an axe at his neck and red eyes glaring at him unrecognizably until Techno relaxed.

But Ranboo?

Ranboo wasn't as lucky.

Techno swung his axe upwards, spinning it with a fancy movement that had once impressed Tommy, hoping to pull a similar reaction from the teen next to him. He wasn't disappointed as Ranboo's eyes lit up, a childlike happiness spreading across his features.

"So," the boy said, obviously fighting (and failing) to keep hope and joy from bleeding into his tone, "Do you, uh, do you like it? The-the axe, I mean."

Techno turned his back, reaching down to pluck the bones from the ground, the last remains of a skeleton he had brought to an untimely (second) death. The action hid the small, fond grin making its way onto his face as he gruffly replied, "Yeah, I mean, it's alright. It'll do for now, I guess. Kind of nice." He unceremoniously shoved the items into a small bag hanging from his hip, frowning at the way the tips poked out from the top.

"Oh, here, let me help—"

Techno caught sight of a black hand reaching towards the bag and reacted, really, without thinking. Grabbing it in a vice and twisting until he heard something snap was instinctual, a movement bred into his system by years of fear and fighting. He didn't flinch at the scream that echoed familiarly through his ears, axe already raised to bring down on the offending limb when he heard the voices clamoring over each other, shouting and commanding for him to stop. Usually Techno would ignore them, but to hear them calling for anything but _blood_ was out of the ordinary.

"—ease! Please, Techno, I'm sorry! Please, please, please, no, no!"

Techno blinked, coming to his senses to find Ranboo on his knees, sobbing as one arm covered his face protectively and the other shook in Techno's fist. Dropping it instantly, Techno took three steps back, staring in horror at what he had done as the gifted weapon slid from his fingers to fall onto the ground beside him.

Ranboo continued to cry, trembling where he sat curled up, awaiting a blow that would never arrive. He glanced up fearfully, heterochromatic eyes blurred and smudged like watery paint against his dual-colored skin. Techno backed up more, breath heavy and chest heaving as the cacophony of screaming that circled its way around his mind got louder and louder.

_Techno help him_

_Technohelp!_

_He hurt him, he hurt Ranboo._

_F's in the chat for Ranboo, boys._

_F_

_F_

_F_

_Help help help help._

_Healing potions!_

At least one of the voices was worth something. Techno plunged his hand into his inventory (and pretended he didn't see the way Ranboo jumped back and gagged against the snot in his throat) searching for what had been suggested. Before he had left with Ranboo, Techno had debated whether or not to bring any potions, caving to his paranoia and packing them anyway, just in case. Currently he was thanking his paranoia to heaven and back as he yanked the healing potion out and tossed it towards where Ranboo sat.

"That'll help," Techno said, voice shakier than a leaf in a storm, "It's a healing potion, I promise."

Ranboo looked down at the glass bottle before glancing back up at Technoblade. The terror and distrust in the boy's gaze hit Techno like a sword through his gut.

(He thought he had been past putting that expression on kids' faces.

He thought he had been done hurting those he wanted to protect.)

Cautiously, one pale, white hand reached out for the potion, as if it expected the bottle to be taken away before it could reach it. Once it was within Ranboo's grasp, he raced to remove the cork, struggling to do it with an arm cradled against his chest, and chugged the glowing liquid it contained like a man dying of thirst.

Ranboo's broken arm began to slowly straighten itself out from the unnatural angle it had been forced into, the bone knitting itself back together with audible clicks and cracks. Techno watched as Ranboo winced and whimpered with each one, hands slowly tightening into fists at his side.

"Ranboo, I—" Techno began once the Ender hybrid had finished the potion and his arm had healed, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to… I didn't-I'm sorry."

"…You _broke_ my arm. I was just trying to _help_ —"

"I know, I know, I'm sorry. I wasn't-I wasn't thinking it just _happened_."

Ranboo inhaled a shuddering breath, wiping away the tear tracks on his skin with his sleeve, flinching at the rub of the cloth on his still sensitive cheek. The burns were healed by the potion, but something like that took more than one and far more time to fix. Techno thought about offering a cloth and some ointment, but remembered the way Ranboo had reacted to his movement before and decided against it.

"My life and the circumstances that come with it have meant that anytime I see someone, anyone, coming towards me, I react. The options used to be to stop them or die. I'm-those reactions are still there, wound within the tapestry of my soul, and I'm not sure if I'll ever be able to remove them." Techno looked away from the shivering figure of the boy across from him, eyes scanning the horizon so he didn't have to see Ranboo's reaction.

(" _Coward_ ," the voices called him.

They were not wrong.)

"So," Ranboo said, sniffing one last time as he stood on wobbly, unsteady legs, gingerly bending his arm back and forth, "Don't come at you unless you can see me clearly, got it." Absolutely bewildered and more than a little concerned, Techno's eyes flickered back over to Ranboo, who simply gave him an empathetic, red-rimmed look. "I get it, you know. I have things like that too. TNT, obsidian, the color green… I just. I think I might need some time without seeing you."

Technoblade blinked once. Twice. Three times before he nodded, pushing back his confusion as he replied, "Of course. Whatever you need. I really am sorry."

"I know," Ranboo told him, flashing him half of a nervous smile, "We're all a little broken."


End file.
